The Mentalist
by insouciantIntellectual
Summary: A charming man catches your eye, but when your gaze captures his, you'll find your eyes aren't the only thing he'll be able to see into.


Your coffee is far too hot to drink.  
You stare blankly at the froth obscuring the reflective surface, mundane thoughts passing through your mind. Indifferently looking around the familiar café you have become accustomed to, a figure across the room catches your eye. He is standing, intensely speaking with another regular you recognize from past experiences. The customer looks genuinely distraught, as if truly offended by what the man is saying. A confident smirk crosses the man's face, and you find yourself realizing how charming he is. A fedora upon his head, he is dressed formally, and you can't help but notice how his smirking is less devious, and more genuinely pleased with himself. It adds to his appeal, to say the least. He says something to the man, who hastily draws out a few noticeably large bills from his wallet.

The customer irritably stomping off, his billfold considerably lighter, as the man stashes his new funds in his pocket, after ordering a cup of coffee. It reminds you that you have coffee cooling, though as you take a sip, your eyes do not leave this mystifying individual for a moment. You find yourself staring, with much more interest filling your glance than before. After several moments, he turns around slowly, his eyes catching when he notices your gaze. Flushing, you hurriedly convince yourself your now lukewarm cup of coffee is more interesting, and you don't look up again for several minutes. Later, you notice the man stand, tip his hat to the server, and head for the door. You heave a sigh, wishing you had taken the opportunity to learn more about this dashing fellow. Seconds later, you decide you should return to your apartment for the rest of the day.  
Outside, you wave a taxi down, and as you take your place in the back seat, you notice a figure jogging towards the open door behind you. Breathlessly, a voice apologizes. "I'm not going far," it reasoned, "Do you mind if we share a ride?" You glance over, wondering what it could hurt, when you notice a familiar tie concealed behind a recognizable jacket. Sure enough, when the owner of the voice falls into the seat next to you, apologizing for the inconvenience, it is the man you had seen before. He grins at you, and, flushing, you turn to look out your window. Some time passes, the repetitive noise of traffic having lulled you into a daydream, you are caught off guard when he inquires as to where you're headed. You explain you are heading back to your apartment. After a few seconds, he looks at you quizzically. "We've met, haven't we?" he demands. Waiting for a reply, you stutter and assure him you haven't. A smug expression crossing his face, he stares at you for a moment. "Oh, really? I seem to remember you staring at the back of my head for quite some time. By the way, nice taste in coffee; you have to love a nice hazelnut latte." Your breath catches in your throat, and you attempt to sputter out an excuse. He seems to be examining your expression, and it begins to make you a bit uncomfortable. "Why don't you come with me? I'll pay the fare and everything." Your heart skips a beat, and you find yourself agreeing, even if you know that you know better.

The taxi comes to a stop outside a large condominium, and you step out after him rigidly. "Great," he says, "We can have a nice talk here." You follow him into the elevator, going up to the seventh floor, and following him into what you assume is his unit. A hefty, lavish room spreads before you, and he offers you a seat. Sitting across from you on a plush armchair, he leans forward in his seat, staring into your eyes for a few moments. Given the opportunity, you inquire as to what he was doing with the other customer in the café. "Oh, that was business. Nothing more than a bit of a read, for me. People are like open books, and I found something they didn't want getting out. So, I took some money, to keep me quiet. Simple, really." While he smugly grins at you, you ask what he means by reading. "I'm a mentalist." He says simply. "I look under people's tops, prodding around in their mind a bit. Most people pay me. I can make you forget, remember, and do things. Things you may find yourself knowing you couldn't bring yourself to do, but I can make you." To communicate this point, he snaps his fingers, gazing into your eyes. Your muscles go rigid, your posture that of a statue. You are paralyzed, unable to move, your eyes fixed on his gaze. Time passes, and after minutes that seem like hours, his mouth opens. Secrets, things you have never told anyone, things locked away in the deepest, darkest pits of your preconscious burst forth. He suddenly knows everything about you. For effect, he adds how you take your coffee once more. He leans back, and you can breathe again. "So, it's pretty obvious you find me—oh, what was the specific thought—charming, wasn't it?" He chuckles lightly to himself. You find your face heating up, and you pathetically nod. "Well then, let's get to the point."

You lose control. It is as though you are watching the back of your head, yourself an observer, watching over your body as it grows ever closer to this charming man. Tightening embraces turn into deepening caresses, his fingers gently intertwining with yours, and, though you are merely an observer, you can feel it deep within yourself. Every touch igniting a sensation you cannot possibly explain, bringing bliss to your being. Lips collide, the room itself heating up with the tension. When it is released at last, all is calm and silent, and you feel yourself returning.

You gaze at the man in front of you. You must have fallen asleep, as the morning sun shines bright through the large windows, having gently lulled you back into consciousness. He smiles, wishing you a good morning, adding "Hope you had a nice time." Your stomach drops. Looking at him, he gazes into your eyes once more. "You think I'm going to leave you. No, you know I am. That I'm going to take your money, your memories, and make a run for it, right? Well, even though you'll be the one leaving." He waits a few moments, and you can feel the lump in your throat grow slowly. You don't want it the meeting to come to an end, and you wish with your entire being he won't cast you aside. "You're smarter than you look." He adds.

You have only time to shut your eyes, flinching, before he commands you to sleep with a hushed whisper.

You stare at your ceiling, lying in bed, and find yourself unable to remember what you had been thinking about. For some reason, you feel melancholy, though what about, you cannot recall.


End file.
